Tuesday Nights
by Kerrison
Summary: For so long, their Tuesday nights consisted only of each other. Now, after everything that's happened, can they get them back?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **Beta'ed by Charma10 - who is a fantastic idea-wall. Things bounce off her like you wouldn't believe! ;-) Thanks for your help, Jaimee, with posting _Hold On_. And thanks for giving me a reason to finally suck it up and learn how to use darned LJ.  
_Tuesday Nights_ is a WIP - aiming for 9 chapters. The entire _Hold On _ series looks like it will be a 3 parter, if everything stays on track. :) Here's hoping!  
_Ps: Yes, in my NCIS universe, I killed off Jeanne, too. Just a complication I didn't wanna cope with._

* * *

The Mossad surveillance was true; he had come to her apartment once a week for quite some time. Always Tuesday nights.

It started easily enough – a nightly jog as he showed her the local trails and paths. Of course, with the two of them, the jog inevitably turned into a race. The loser was resigned to cooking dinner back at her place – and the winner selecting the night's movie.

It was a nice relaxing routine. She enjoyed the camaraderie. He enjoyed ... the entire thing. Being friends with a woman who didn't want to sleep with him was a new thing for Tony. His female friends had always been either prospective lays or current girlfriends or former girlfriends where they tried to remain friendly post-relationship-implosion.

During Tony's involvement with Jeanne, his Tuesdays with Ziva had slowly been turned into Tuesday nights with Jeanne. He didn't realize how much he depended on those nights with Ziva to keep him sane and centered.

The sex with Jeanne was great. That much he never denied.

But there was something about Tuesday that was worth more than getting laid. And Tony didn't realize that until it was too late.

He showed up at her door a few weeks after Jeanne's death. He was trying to put his life back together. It felt odd driving over there in his running shoes and shorts. It felt awkward when she answered the door in a cocktail dress, her makeup perfectly done for an evening out.

It felt like a kick in the gut when she coolly said she had plans for Tuesday. And it felt like a slap in the face when she said she'd be busy next Tuesday, too.

He'd been replaced.

Replaced by a few martinis at a bar with her neighbor, Bailey, and Bailey's gaggle of female friends.

Ziva had a life.

And it didn't include him anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

"Seven letters-- Willis's first direction," she muttered, staring at the crossword puzzle in front over.

Tuesday night.

She'd already gone for her run. It was decidedly uneventful and unfulfilling. She'd come home, done her requisite sit ups and stretched to cool down.

She'd taken a shower. Washed her hair. Shaved her legs. Painted her toenails- one of her few female indulgences.

And now she sat in her pajamas on the sofa doing an incredibly frustrating crossword puzzle.

Last Tuesday, she sharpened her knife.

The Tuesday before that, she had gone with Abby to the local Tattoo Parlor and held the younger woman's hand as she added to her tattoo collection with a lovely spider on her hip.

She had managed to leave the parlor ink-free, despite Abby's valiant attempts to convince her to get a small decoration in a discrete location.

It had been ... tempting. But not something she'd do on a whim.

This Tuesday was crossword Tuesday. And she was incredibly bored.

The knock on her door startled her, but that didn't stop her from practically leaping across the room to open the door to any distraction fate might have sent her way.

Her eyes widened. "Tony."

"It's Tuesday," he said simply.

She glanced him up and down quickly, taking in his running attire.

"It is," she agreed, stepping back so he could come inside.

They hadn't been running since before he was shipped off for several months- before Jeanne.

And he showed up, dressed to go for a run, and expected her to be sitting around in her running shoes just waiting for him to appear?

It was infuriating, really.

But she refused to show it.

Ziva closed the door behind him and watched as he bounced on the tips of his toes for a second, loosening his muscles.

"I have already been running tonight, Tony," she said simply.

"Oh," his body language said more than his words ever could have. "Of course you have." He stopped bouncing and flitted his eyes to the walls, the tv, anywhere but to her.

She looked down and took a breath.

"Sit," she ordered, sharply, pointing to the sofa.

She turned and headed to her bedroom, grabbing a pair of jogging shorts and a sports-bra, knowing that repairing her friendship was worth far more than a few extra pieces of laundry and a second shower that night.

She changed quickly and tugged on her favorite shoes. She walked back to the living room, pulling her hair into a ponytail as she did so.

"But I have no doubt that I can still beat you even though I have already done 5 miles today," she said, leaning over the back of the couch and whispering in his ear.

He closed his eyes, the feeling of her whisper on his ear almost too much for him.

"I would expect no less from you, my crazy little ninja chick. Ten miles is nothing for a highly trained Mossad agent," he teased, turning his head slightly towards her, their lips only inches apart.

"I will even give you a head start," she grinned a feral, predatory grin and laughed as he shot off the sofa like a rocket and out the door.

_The crossword puzzle will wait_, she mused. _Tonight is Tuesday. _


	3. Chapter 3

They had started like they had for the past several Tuesdays. Up the sidewalk, through the woods, across the school yard and into the park.

Somewhere along the way, however, they had diverged and now kept to one of the nature walking trails, the moon guiding their way.

Their pace, had also slowed considerably and now they strolled instead of running.

She occasionally would edge into his personal space, bump his shoulder with her own.

He would occasionally drop behind, find a pine-cone, and lob it at her ass.

She knew each time what was gong to happen. And the majority of the time, she would wave a hand behind her, flinging the cone away before it made contact.

But once or twice, she allowed herself to be hit, turning and – feigning indignation – pouncing on the laughing Tony.

They'd chase each other for a few steps, he would allow her to catch him, and she'd find some way to torment him for a few moments before they both chuckled and resumed their stroll.

"I would go running every Tuesday on the ship," he supplied, out of the blue.

She merely nodded.

Tony shrugged. "It felt right. Keeping tradition."

She nodded again. "I went several times when I was in Tel-Aviv, as well. It was a nice way to break up my week."

"Our movie selection stunk, though," he added. "_The Naked Gun _is not my idea of a good film. And seeing it every other week for a month – let's just say that I missed our movie nights."

Ziva snickered, knowing his passion for classic films lead to an extreme distaste for poorly done spoofs. "I did, as well, Tony," she admitted.

They strolled a few more steps before he spoke again. "Thanks for Bogart, the other night. You are a fantastic date, Ms. David."

Her eyes widened slightly as his use of the word 'date.' But she smiled and nodded, hoping the moonlight hid her slight blush. "I had a good time, too. We should do it again soon, yes?"

A delighted chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Next Tuesday?"

"No," she replied. "I have plans on Tuesday."

"Oh." There was little he could do to hide the hurt and surprise in his voice. He tried to throw on his jovial tone and lightly bumped her shoulder with his. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"For Tuesday?" her voice was serious, yet coy. "Tuesday, my best friend and I have plans. We go running. It is the highlight of my week."

He blinked.

Ziva continued. "But I believe I am free on Friday."

She watched his face, noting his expressions change as he processed her words.

"Friday it is."


	4. Chapter 4

She chased him through the park on Tuesday. Each time she caught up, she'd jump on his back and demand information about Friday. What to where? Where were they going? What was she expected to bring? Would she be allowed to shoot anything?

He would laugh, carrying her a few steps, and refusing any answers.

"Whatever you want to wear is fine, Ziva."

"That is not helpful, Tony," she said, chasing him again as he put on a burst of speed up the hill. "I might be able to fire a gun in an evening gown, but that doesn't mean I _want _to."

In her frustration, she found energy and managed to take a sizable lead in their race. She gave him free reign in the kitchen and selected a movie that she knew they'd both enjoy.

Tuesday night was lovely.

Friday morning was frustrating.

The rose on her desk was a surprise.

Yellow, with red tips.

McGee had eyed the bouquet, appraising them quickly and letting a low whistle escape. "Someone's out to impress you, Ziva," he said with a kind smile. "Big plans for the night?"

She smirked in his direction and shrugged. "I am not sure what our plans are yet."

The elevator chimed and Gibbs walked around the corner, distributing coffee as he went. He paused at Ziva's desk, holding the coffee just out of her reach. "Secret admirer, Ziva?"

She met his gaze, willing herself not to blush, and refused to answer.

He chuckled, and handed her the coffee with a grin.

"Yellow's an interesting color to send someone," McGee commented after thanking Gibbs for the coffee.

"Not so interesting, McGee," Tony said, rounding the corner and straightening his tie. "Yellow means friendship."

"Ah," Ziva nodded. "Is that so?"

"Not just friendship, Tony," McGee's fingers flew across his keyboard. "According to this, it can mean 'falling in love,' 'welcome back,' and 'promises of things to come.' Maybe Ziva's admirer has bigger intentions than friendship."

Gibbs chuckled. "He could have worst taste in women."

"Thank you, Gibbs." She pushed her hair over her shoulder and watched Tony.

"But he'd better make sure his intentions are clear. Mossad or not, any woman getting mixes signals is not one I want around me." Gibbs continued. His phone rang and he flipped it open with his thumb. "Yeah; Gibbs."

Ziva and McGee laughed while Tony swallowed audibly.

Gibbs' phone shut with a loud click- the noise startling the team from their good mood. He moved towards the elevator, the eyes of his team on his back. "Grab your gear. We've got an ensign on life support in Bethesda."


	5. Chapter 5

She shifted in the car seat, struggling to keep her eyes open.

"You could have slept, you know. I wasn't going to kidnap you," he said softly, eyes on the road as he navigated the narrow rural road.

She stretched her arms as much as she could, one of them resting on the driver's side headrest. "Maybe I am just interested in where we're going."

He slid a doubtful look in her direction and grinned when he saw her somewhat guilty look. _Ziva caught with a control issue. Let it go, Tony. _"Sorry that we're changing plans. The case kept us out longer -"

"I know, Tony," she interrupted. "I was there."

He winced. "Yeah."

Her hand slid from the driver's headrest to the back of his neck and gently began to work the kink out of the tense muscles there. He groaned and his eyes flitted closed for a mere second before he snapped them back to the road.

"You're going to put us into a ditch, Dah-veed."

She smiled at him and pulled her hand away, leaving it on his shoulder.

"But I'll take a rain-check." He slowed and put his blinker on before turning into a small drive. "Ah. Home sweet home."

"Why does this seem like the opening scene to one of those horror films you're always making me watch? Old house in the woods late at night. Should I be afraid for my life, Tony?" she teased as she unbuckled and opened her door.

He cast her a lingering look. "If I murdered you, Ziva, who would I have to rub my neck on the ride back to DC?"

Tony moved and shouldered both of their overnight bags, and walked towards the cottage, the front porch light guiding their way.

"Realistically, I'm the one who should be afraid. How many weapons do you have on you right now?"

She grinned, dark and predatory. "All I need is one, Tony. Sometimes, not even one. A hand can work wonders in expediting death."

He shook his head, long since having come to terms with her assassin roots. He keyed the door, and held it open as she preceded him into the cottage. Tony flipped the lights and watched as Ziva moved into the space, taking in her surroundings.

He knew she was calculating exits, distance between one point of cover and another, and all points of exposure like windows. She did it without thinking. She did it in a matter of seconds, where he still had to remind himself to be observant when it counted.

He headed upstairs quickly, not drawing attention to himself and returned while she had set about examining the kitchen.

"Hungry?" he asked, sliding up behind her.

"No. Dinner was filling – and quite tasty," she replied.

They had stopped at a local dinner on the other side of the bridge. Fish and chips and a cold beer had been the order of the night and both had enjoyed the casual fair.

The remainder of the drive onto Cobb's Island had been spent in casual silence as they each pondered the events of the day.

"It was nice of your friend to allow us to stay here," she said, grabbing two beers from the fridge and following him out to the back deck.

Tony nodded and walked out the garden-gate and onto the small dock over the water.

"Simon's a good guy. He's deployed for the next six months." he replied. "When Gibbs gave us the weekend off, I thought maybe this might be a nice change from dinner and a movie."

His normally light hearted tone had disappeared, taken over with one that had what she could only identify as a small amount of self-consciousness to it.

He kicked off his shoes and sat with his feet hanging over the edge, Ziva following suit. She passed him a beer and they clinked bottles before each taking a gentle pull.

"It is a pleasant change, Tony," she said, "But dinner at home would have been fine, too."

He managed a reluctant chuckle. "Really? Not sick of DiNozzo spaghetti yet?"

"I'm more sick of movies where you can quote every line," she teased, shifting closer to him on the dock. "The spaghetti is quite good."

The moonlight reflected off of the water, glistening as the waves lapped the dock pillars.

Tony sipped his beer again.

"Have you ever been in love, Ziva?" he asked, his voice soft and somewhat gravely.

She tilted her head and regarded him for a moment, the sudden topic change unexpected.

"Mm," she said, making an agreeable noise. "Once. Many years ago."

"Not recently?"

She frowned and pulled from her beer bottle. "Love is...," she stopped, trying to collect her thoughts. "Love is a luxury, Tony."

"A water-bed is a luxury, Ziva. Love is an emotion," he corrected, chuckling.

She shook her head. "A Mossad assassin does not know if they will make it through the hour, much less the day. You train to be the best and hope that training keeps you alive. But love complicates things," she paused and cleared her throat. "It makes you stop before you shoot. It makes you lose a split second that is the difference in life and death. It is a luxury, Tony."

"You're not in Tel-Aviv anymore, Ziva. You have friends to watch your back in that split second."

The conversation was drastically different than one she had ever expected to have with him. Teasing barbs about sex? Sure. Tormenting discussion about who could beat up whom? Definitely. Love? Never made her list of possible conversation topics.

"That is true," she said simply. "But – how do you say it? Old habits die hard?"

He nodded and half-shrugged, as if to say 'fair point.'

She prodded: "What about you? Have you ever been in love?"

"Somedays I think I was. Otherdays, I'm not sure I know what love is."

Ziva had to consciously form the word: "Jeanne?" she asked.

He nodded. "It was supposed to be just another undercover."

"But?"

"Other undercovers don't hurt as much as this one does- did."

She forced her tone to remain neutral. "You got very close with her, Tony. It makes sense."

He shrugged. "It would make sense if I was upset over her death," he supplied.

"But you're not?"

"I am," he corrected. "I'm sad she died. She wasn't a horrible person. Just had horrible parents," he paused before continuing. "I think I'm more upset about what it did to the team- to us."

Her eyebrows rose as she took his words as he meant them – honest and open. She leaned closer and briefly rested her chin on his shoulder in as much a sign of solidarity as she could offer. "We will all be fine, Tony. We're here, yes?"

He turned and planted a chaste kiss atop her forehead.

"So tell me about your love, Ms. Dah-veed," he prodded, trying to make his voice more jovial.

"Chaim," she said quietly, simply. Her head still resting on his shoulder. "We... we were young children together. He trained as Mossad along side me. We were partnered on several missions."

"You grew up together?"

She nodded. "His father and my father were friends."

Tony moved, settling his arm around her back and pulling her closer into him. He felt her move closer into his embrace, relaxing into their contact.

"He was my closest friend for many years. I could tell him anything – and many things I never had to speak of because he already knew."

Neither spoke, nor pointed out the obvious similarities.

"Were you going to settle down? Pop out little Chaims?" he said, lightly teasing. He felt her face curl into a smile.

"We discussed it, yes. We thought of marriage and children. But I enjoyed my work. He did, as well. We thought we had more time." She paused and cleared her throat. "He got caught while attempting to assassinate Shamir Puriv. They weren't kind to him. But after many hours of suffering, they did end his torment."

He closed his eyes and drew her tighter towards him. "I'm sorry, Ziva."

She nodded and blinked quickly, forcing back the stray tears that had managed to well in her eyes. "As I am sorry for your loss, Tony."

The moon rose higher in the sky and the glow on the water grew brighter.

"We should get inside. It has been a long day, no?" she asked, sighing and gently withdrawing from Tony's protective embrace.

He nodded and they stood, hands brushing as they walked along the narrow dock to the garden-gate.

Ziva stopped, regarding him in the moonlight. Her hand darted out and she linked her fingers with his as she leaned up and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, Tony."

He frowned. "For what?"

She half-shrugged. "Treating me like a girl, occasionally."

He laughed, an actual laugh that rose from his gut. "Trust me, Zee-vah, if there is one thing I'm painfully aware of, it's how much of a girl you are."

She rolled her eyes, taking it for the compliment it was. "Thank you for the get-away this weekend, too. It is a nice change to not be in the city."

He squeezed her fingers and pulled her towards the house. "I still owe you a real date."

"And I plan to collect," she agreed, following closely behind as he led the way back into the cottage and up the stairs.

Tony stopped at the top of the stairs and released their fingers, backing down the hall. "I'll be down here if you need me. Night Ziva. Sweet dreams," he offered as he opened the door to his room and slipped inside.

She felt her forehead furrow slightly. An odd sense washed through her. _Regret? Loss?_ _Disappointment? Yes. It must be disappointment. _

When he stopped over that night after work and told her to pack a weekend bag, the thought of sleeping arrangements hadn't really entered her mind. It would just take care of itself- as it usually did - she was able to set limits.

And while she hadn't expected to share a bed with Tony, now that she realized she wouldn't fall asleep with her friend's protective embrace around her, she felt an odd pang of disappointment.


	6. Chapter 6

He had every intention of getting up early and making her breakfast. He intended it to be a spread she would never forget; omelets, muffins, bagels, ... all of his culinary skills displayed in one meal.

But when he finally rose, it was already half to lunch and he found her lounging on a chair on the back porch, reading.

For a mere moment, he was distracted by her swimsuit. It was a chocolate brown halter that accentuated her figure in all the right ways.

Not that the other suit – the one from LA – wasn't flattering. But this one would stick in his mind; the brown made her eyes sparkle and caught the rich subtle shades in her hair.

He forced himself to swallow and stood, leaning on the doorframe, watching her before he interrupted.

"I was going to make you breakfast."

She looked up and a small smile graced her features. "But you were too tired from a night of rampant sexual prowess? With... small woodland creatures?"

"Ha, Ha," he said. "Mock all you want, Zee-vah. Looking this good is exhausting. It takes beauty sleep." Their tone was good-natured and both enjoyed the familiar banter.

Ziva slid her sunglasses up and rested them atop her head.

"Where's your camera, Tony?" she asked, grinning.

She was met with a quizzical stare.

"The last time you saw me in a swimsuit, you managed to take a million photos which you then displayed to a small floating city, yes?"

He had the good grace to look somewhat abashed. "They weren't displayed to the crew."

"Oh. I see. Just displayed to the sailors in trouble?"

After a small stare-down, he relented. "Does it really bother you?"

She shrugged. "A bit, yes. Not that they were on display. But I am more upset that you didn't tell me you kept them," she paused. "And more upsetting that you don't respect me more than a pin-up model."

He looked up at the bright blue sky, unable to meet her eye. "I didn't tell you because I knew you wouldn't let me keep them. I needed ..." he stopped, his voice threatening to break. "I needed to keep you with me. Those photos were all I had."

She opened her lips to speak, but his gaze – now firmly trained on her – warned her otherwise and she promptly thought better, shutting her mouth.

"When a man displays a photo of someone as beautiful as you, Ziva, it's not always disrespect. Sometimes it's pride," he set his jaw as he prepared to do something he rarely did- apologize and mean it. "I'm sorry if you -- If _I_ made you feel that it was anything other than that."

Ziva nodded, unable to find any words.

"I'm going to go for a run."

"I will be here," she said, instinctively knowing he didn't want company. He was running to clear his head, something she often did.

_Tony just apologized to me. The world must be coming to an end. _She thought, returning to her book but barely able to follow the story any longer as her mind reeled.


	7. Chapter 7

She sat up and stretched, arching her back, hearing his footfalls on the path long before she saw him come around the corner.

His shirt stuck to his chest, more likely a result of the humidity, rather than an exhausting run. He wasn't winded, she observed, and he had taken quite a while out on the trail. Too long for one of his quick half-sprints.

"We've got to hit that shore-line tomorrow morning," he said, coming over to the chaise and sitting down in the spot on the chaise behind her. "It's gotta be a killer view during sunrise!"

"Hey!" she protested, realizing her ability to lay back down and sunbathe had been compromised. "Find your own chair!"

"But this one's much nicer," he teased, turning quickly so that he straddled her from behind.

"I agree," she huffed, deciding to lay back, forcing him to lay back as well.

Her head rested under his chin, against his chest and she felt herself relax against him.

"Do I make a nice pillow, Zee-vah?" he asked, his voice tickling her ear. He let his hands come and rest on her sides, just above her hips.

"Mm, lumpy. And softer than I would have thought," she teased, intentionally wiggling as she settled in. She lifted her book and resumed reading.

"Soft?" He squawked, glaring at the top of her head. "I will have you know that I do numerous sit-ups every morning!"

She chuckled. "I am trying to read, Tony."

He moved his left hand away from her side and snatched the book from her grasp. "What is this? _Pygmalion, _Ziva? You could have just watched the movie."

He felt her tense slightly. "Jenny suggested several books to me earlier this year. I am still making my way through the list," Ziva took a deep breath, willing herself to relax. "She thought I'd like this one, especially. She was right – I am enjoying it."

Tony closed his eyes for a moment, sending a quick and silent prayer towards Jenny. He had many things to thank her for – most of which he doubted he would have realized had she not died.

"Can I read it with you?" His voice was soft, respectful.

"No," she said. "But you may read it to me." He still had a hand resting on her hip and she picked it up as she spoke, lacing their fingers together before gently tugging his arm more firmly around her.

"As you wish," he said, quoting _The Princess Bride. _ It was still one he planned to show her- until then, his meaning behind the simple statement was kept to himself.

She closed her eyes and settled back into his embrace, and sighed as he began to speak. The timbre of his voice was perfect, and relaxed her into a security she couldn't remember ever having felt before.


	8. Chapter 8

He had to have slipped away after dinner while she lounged on the sofa, starting on another book she found on Simon's shelves. She was a voracious reader and often got lost in the literature. She knew she had lost track of him, but where he went, she couldn't have said.

Off her guard? Most certainly. It was as relaxed as she had been in a while. The whole weekend had been about time with her best friend, not chasing suspects, not keeping her assassin persona firmly in place.

This weekend, she had been allowed to be a girl; not just "Mossad."

He took her for a stroll that evening before dinner. She had been daring, wearing the comfortable sundress she and Abby had purchased years before, but she had still never worn. Her clothes were primarily functional. Those which were at all frivolous were typically 'persona-costumes' for work or the occasional formal function the liaison position required.

But she did own a sundress in a lovely blue. And the way Tony had stuttered when she walked down the stairs had, in fact, made her blush slightly.

The had strolled through the small islands 'downtown' – enjoying the view and the evening's beautiful weather. He had gently guided her towards a small boutique and she popped inside, returning with her hair now pinned back with a lovely abalone curl and pick. "Practical," she said simply, watching him roll his eyes and grin.

"Very nice" he had simply said. "Practical and beautiful."

Dinner had started at Captain John's Crabhouse, before Tony realized the only thing that Ziva could eat were the chicken-strips. Shellfish and Kosher were not synonymous.

She protested, saying that chicken would be sufficient, but he continued to ignore her and guided them both over a block to Skymansky's restaurant which had a more Kosher-friendly selection.

Despite years of Gibbs' training, he still wasn't the master of stealth. And when he tried to steal one of her frenchfries, he found his hand caught in a vice-like grip before he could get the fry near his mouth.

Ziva's glare would have withered a lesser man. But Tony just met her gaze and held it firm, relaxing his arm as she gently tugged the fry towards her own mouth, biting it in half.

"You could have asked," she had said with a small smirk.

"Wouldn't have been as much fun," he replied, popping the remainder of the fry into his mouth.

She leaned over and stole a bite of pasta and he remained silent, choosing instead to pick his battles.

They walked back to the cottage, his arm around her shoulders, her own around his waist. He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, occasionally, and she eyed him.

He merely shrugged. "It's getting chilly."

She smirked and leaned her head on his shoulder.

And sometime after they got home, she found herself on the sofa with no clue where Tony had slipped off to.

Now, as she had climbed the stairs to her room to slip into her pajamas, she found it.

The envelope was atop her pillow. Her name, in his distinct penmanship, scrawled across the front.

She sat on the edge of the bed, she opened the envelope and a disappointed sigh escaped her.

The photos had been returned.

"Stupid man," she muttered, finding a piece of paper at the end of the stack.

_I'm sorry. Honest. _

_And no- I didn't make copies._

_T_

She couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of him making duplicates before returning the originals. She wouldn't put it past him, in any other situation. But this time, for some reason, she believed him.

The walk to his room was quick and she was somewhat surprised to find the door to his room propped open. She knocked softly on the door jamb, drawing his attention away from his book.

He lay on the bed, dinner slacks and shirt traded in for jeans and an undershirt. He looked up and lay his book on the nightstand.

Ziva held the envelope up and shot him a questioning look.

"Hey- those are all of them, I swear!" his hands came up in a defensive move.

She sighed and crossed the doorway, sitting on the bed next to his hip. She slapped the envelope on his chest.

"I did not mention it to get the photos back."

He frowned, his brow furrowing. "Then why-"

She sighed, obviously frustrated. "You should have told me, Tony!"

He leaned up on his elbows, his voice rising in exasperation. "Tell you what? That I think you're hot? Ziva, there isn't a red blooded man in the world who wouldn't agree with that. Come on- even you have to realize-"

She felt herself blush and covered her face with her hands, scrubbing them against her skin in aggravation.

"Do not do that," she said, her voice firm but even. "Do not try to flatter your way out of it, or joke your way out. If you do not want me to be honest with you, then you need to tell me. Because I am always honest with my partners- it's what keeps us alive!"

He pulled her hands away from her face and held her wrists in his gentle grasp. "I'm not joking, Ziva. You're beautiful. Bikini or otherwise," he paused and made sure he had her gaze. "I do respect you- and taking advantage with those photos wasn't... professional of me."

She nodded, seeing his honesty in his eyes.

"Keep the photos, Tony," she said softly. "I'm sure you enjoy them far more than I."

"I don't think that's the best idea."

Ziva half-shrugged. "Perhaps not. But if I keep them, they will end up in the trash. If you keep them, I'm sure they will have more ...mm, entertaining stories to tell, no?"

He fought off a blush and managed to waggle his eyebrows at her and stroked his thumbs across her palms. "Now I'm wishing I _had _my camera this morning. I love the new suit."

"I'm sure you will see it again. Next time you will be more prepared with a camera, I think?"

His eyes sparkled like a child's on Christmas Eve. "When? When do I get to see it again? Now?"

The dark haired woman laughed. "Not now."

He pouted -playing up the affect. And she chuckled as his lower lip jutted out, an expression of the utmost patheticness.

She turned her gaze away, looking out the window of his room. "Back to DC tomorrow," she said, regarding the moonlight view.

He rolled onto his side, mere inches from pressing his chest against her back as she sat looking out the window. He slid his arm around her stomach and gently pulled back in a hug.

"I know."

"Thank you," she said softly. "This weekend was lovely."

He nodded. "Thanks for coming."

"I should let you get some sleep," she said, turning in his embrace as much as she could She leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Laila Tov, Tony."

"Sweet dreams," he replied, reluctantly releasing her as she stood and headed to her own room.


	9. Chapter 9

He tapped the lid to his pen against his lips, his brow deeply furrowed.

Writing was not something Tony typically enjoyed. In highschool, he had done everything in his power to get out of writing papers.

In his younger years, he hadn't been above paying a geek to write the analytical paper of that week's Thomas Hardy assigned reading. Hell, he was lucky he even managed to read the Cliff's Notes for the book, let alone write a paper.

In college it wasn't much of an issue – hence the major in Phys Ed.

But it was still there. His reports took forever. His hunt-and-peck typing style didn't help speed the process along any, either.

Case-report time was McGee's favorite part of the day; at 90 Words per minute, he was always finished long before Tony. Tony could tease him about many things, but McGee definitely held the upper-hand in typing and the man enjoyed his prowess, a silent smirk the only gloating Tony ever saw.

Ziva, on the other hand, had no problem gloating. Of course, her celebration of finishing first usually came in the form of tormenting Tony. Her favorite game was to come read over his shoulder, her breath warm in his ear.

Case-reports were easy; who got killed, what the investigation entailed, and finally, the all important 'who done it.' Typing exactly what happened in concise sentences was something Tony enjoyed.

Writing a letter to someone he was falling for? Not that easy.

_Tuesday night is my favorite night._

He looked down at his paper and rolled his eyes. _Understatement of the year, DiNozzo._ _You've gotta tell the girl more than that, _he thought.

_When I was younger, I used to look forward to Friday nights._

_There was either a football game to play or a party to go to where all the hot chicks were wearing short skirts. Lots of my buds to hang around with & lots of fun, rowdy behavior that would make you roll your eyes at our immaturity. _

_Friday nights meant no school the next day. It meant no work the next day- plenty of time to sleep off my hangover. _

_I guess it may sound dumb, but its been years since I looked forward to Friday nights. There's still a game to watch or the occasional drink with Abs, McGeek & the Boss, but Fridays aren't what they used to be._

_No more bars with hot co-eds singing bad Karaoke after one too many beers. _

_No more late night after-game parties when my football team slaughters the competition. _

_I don't know when things shifted, Zi, but for the first time that I can remember, I have one place I want to be on Friday- at the gym on the treadmill, so that when Tuesday night comes, I'll be able to finally kick your ass. _

_I spend all week waiting for the one night I get to relax and be myself. _

_I spend all week waiting for one night I get to spend with my best friend. _

_Tuesday night is my favorite night._

_T_

_PS: Thanks for making this weekend an exception to the rule – it was the best Friday I've had in a very long time. _

Tony re-read, deciding that any other changes would make him pull out his hair. This was honest. This was true. This was the person she brought out in him.

And it scared the crap out of him.

How did he let her get so close? How did he let her into his life, and – if he was honest with himself- into his heart? When did she become his conscience? When did he start to worry for her more than himself?

He groaned, leaning back in his chair and let his eyes come to rest on her desk.

She wouldn't be in for another ten minutes – 0630 every morning. He set his watch by her.

He stood and crossed the aisle, tucking his note underneath the vase- where she would certainly see it.

The look on her face as she read it would tell him everything he needed to know.

When he had given her the yellow roses, they had gone home the same night. He remembered feeling a little stung that she hadn't displayed them longer.

But of course, this was Ziva- personal life was personal & drawing attention to herself was not her modus operandi.

This bouquet of roses sat in the same place. A beautiful crystal vase catching the light as streamed in the double-paned, seeming to reflect a sparkle up to the roses.

The Red Roses.

He had looked it up himself this time.

_Red Roses: Courage. Beauty. Respect. Passion. I love you._


End file.
